AS attention shifts towards the role of genes in disease, we stand on the
brink of a medical revolution. In the industrial world, the threat from
infection has receded, exposing our vulnerability to the 4000 or more
single-gene disorders such as cystic fibrosis and sickle-cell anaemia.
Increasingly, too, we are aware of the genetic influence on heart disease,
cancer and infection. Gene-based medicine—therapy in particular—may
offer as much to humanity in the 21st century as antibiotics did in 20th.

In The New Healers, William Clark takes on gene therapy with the
same verve and clarity which made his previous books on the immune system and
the biology of the cell such a pleasure. The main message is that gene therapy
works. The first trials were on children suffering a rare immune disorder called
adenosine deaminase (ADA) deficiency. Blood tests show that the healthy ADA gene
transferred to their cells functions normally, restoring the immune system to
full capacity.

But gene therapy can do more than supply a healthy gene to repair a
single-gene defect. More than half the trials under way are to treat cancer or
AIDS, and several novel strategies are being developed. For instance, so-called
adaptive immunotherapy involves stimulating the body’s natural defences against
cancer by delivering genes for immune-system molecules to tumour cells.

Besides gene therapy, we may soon have DNA vaccines, delivered into the body
by a miniature “gene gun”. These new vaccines stimulate a more effective immune
response, and are being developed against hepatitis, TB and even cancer. The
human genome project is likely to provide researchers with even more ideas for
improving our health.

But Clark sounds a warning note: we must ensure that genetic information is
used wisely by informing ourselves about the ethical issues involved. Otherwise
we could see a backlash that might deny us the far-reaching benefits of
gene-based medicine.

Marconi and Popov were both experimenting in 1895 with radio receivers. The 21-year-old Marconi was already using his set-up to send and receive messages in and around his father’s mansion near Bologna. Sometime that year, he woke his mother in the early hours to witness the first demonstration of radio transmission. He tapped out a message in Morse code on a transmitter that he had built in his attic laboratory and a bell attached to a receiver rang at the far end of the room. Radio contact had been made. Marconi moved to London in 1896 and applied for a patent for his invention that June. By the turn of the century, he had established the first international and transatlantic radio links. In 1909 he was awarded the Nobel prize. Surely his place in history as the inventor of radio was assured?

On 7 May 1945, a distinguished audience, which included Popov’s daughter, gathered at the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow to hear that the date would be celebrated in the future as “Radio Day” in honour of Popov. Since then, several biographies and papers have appeared in the Russian language and pressed home the case for Popov’s priority over Marconi. There is even a textbook called Fundamentals of Radio by I. Zherebtsov printed in English for developing countries. An edition of the book dated 1963 does not even mention Marconi, and claims that Popov was the first person in the world to employ an aerial.

There is little doubt that Popov made a contribution to the development of radio. He was a talented all-rounder who, like Marconi, was greatly influenced by the writings of Oliver Lodge and Heinrich Hertz; the scientists who laid the groundwork for radio communication. He demonstrated his radio receiver to the Russian Physico-Chemical Society on 7 May 1895, but only to pick up electrical disturbances, not Morse messages. Later that year, Popov set up the receiver as a storm detector at the meteorological observatory in the Institute of Forestry in St Petersburg. There is no evidence that he was sending and receiving messages in 1895. The difference between the work of the two men during that year is crucial, because most people accept that radio communication is all about transmitting messages.

Nor has anyone suggested that Popov himself ever claimed priority over Marconi. The two men met in 1902 and became friends. Popov even sent Marconi wedding presents of a samovar and a sealskin coat. After Popov’s death in 1905 the Russian Physical Society began to look into the matter of priority by throwing the question open to the growing radio community. There was little response and so the matter rested for several years.

Then, in 1925, Victor Gabel, a scientist with the Soviet Weights and Measures Office, wrote in the British journal Wireless World (vol 16, p 410), claiming that Popov’s transmission before the Russian Physico-Chemical Society on 24 March 1896 could be construed as “intelligence”. Apparently Popov had signalled “Heinrich Hertz” in Morse and the words had been written down on a blackboard. If this were true, then it makes Popov the official inventor of radio because the transmission predates the patent Marconi applied for on 2 June that year (it was granted in July). The editor of Wireless World pressed Gabel for more detail. Why was the written report of the meeting so brief? Was there any verification that the message had been transmitted? Gabel blamed the Russian navy, saying it had tried to stop Popov from publishing his work. It was not much, but enough for the Stalinist propaganda machine to seize on in 1945 when Radio Day, 7 May, was instituted to commemorate Popov’s demonstration.

Stalin had vanquished the Nazis – but only with tremendous technological and financial support from the West. In science and technology, the Soviet Union had lagged behind his West. Stalin launched a campaign to conceal this from the public. Not only was Popov credited with the invention of radio, but Russian scientists were even said to have invented television and the aeroplane.

Popov had been a victim of politics before. He became director of the Institute of Electrical Engineering in St Petersburg, and refused tsarist demands to carry out repressive measures against his students. Historians of science attribute his death in 1905, aged 46, to the stress that this confrontation caused him. Had he lived, his stature as a scientist might have grown beyond the need for propaganda. But from 1945, the Popov legend grew wherever the Soviet Union had influence.

In 1962 Charles Susskind, a professor of engineering at the University of California at Berkeley, tried to settle the matter and produced a lengthy report for the US Institute of Radio Engineers. The claim of priority, he said, hinged on which of the two scientists had first transmitted intelligence using radio. All the documentary evidence pointed to Marconi. Radio expert Ralph Barrett agrees with Susskind’s conclusions, and he is currently touring Britain with a presentation of the “Popov versus Marconi” story to mark the centenary of these important events in radio history.

After 1945, scientists from the former Soviet Union made tremendous advances in medicine, space, physics and other areas. That now, as Russians, they should continue to claim Popov as the inventor of radio is a myth they can well do without. They are hardly short of genuine achievements to celebrate this year.

So, where are we? An expensive leisure centre? A company playroom for
exhausted executives? No. This is the SPACE Centre in Preston, Lancashire,
a project with a difference for people who are mentally or physically disabled.
SPACE stands for Soft Play Area with Controllable Environment. A small team
that included experts in speech therapy, special needs education and computing
dreamt up the concept of SPACE, and a local charity, the Friends of the
Willows, funds it. The aim is to use technology to create a learning environment
that offers the fun and challenge of the outside world without the frustrations
that people with disabilities so often experience.

‘The flexibility and scope of SPACE are our main strengths,’ says Alison
Shorrock, an occupational therapist who is the officer-in-charge. The centre
is rented out by the hour to be used for whatever its visitors want – as
a rumpus room, a place to improve speech and mobility using structured therapy,
or somewhere to use sound, colour and texture for sensory stimulation.

The main room of the SPACE Centre, known as Big Space, has two levels,
and is soft-padded throughout. People in wheelchairs can be brought to the
heart of the action by an electronic hoist. Once there they can practise
climbing the stairs to the upper level, and then slide down without fear
of hurting themselves. ‘Children do more here. Once they realise they are
safe, they do things they normally wouldn’t attempt,’ explains a nursery
nurse who brings a group of profoundly handicapped youngsters here every
week.

At the start of each session, Big Space is a bare canvas onto which
a sound and light program is projected, driven from the computerised control
room. Shifting patterns and colours are selected for the right balance of
sensory stimulus, enjoyment and relaxation. The centre hopes to enhance
this background with an aroma system for extra sensory input, using fragrances
such as lavender, peppermint and lemon.

Once the backdrop has been created, various pieces of equipment are
brought into the action. All were chosen for fun and relaxation, but each
has a therapeutic use too. The cave is made of cushions and the ‘jewels’
in its carpet are coloured lights piped through fibre optic cables. Huddling
in the cave with a therapist helps children with emotional difficulties
to build trust and security. Others can use it as a refuge when they need
to be quiet.

The vibrating water bed is popular with visiting teachers and nurses
longing for a spot of relaxation before their charges take up residence.
For people with cerebral palsy, a water bed is useful as it decreases muscle
tone and makes physiotherapy more effective. The hammock helps coordination
and balance in so-called ‘sensory integration therapy’. A bubble pool filled
with plastic balls is there for ‘swimming’, which increases body awareness.

Perhaps the most important feature of SPACE is the interaction between
users and the computer-driven apparatus which gives instant feedback for
developing skills. For example, the ‘soundbeam’ contains a sensor beam which
is broken by body movements, triggering a sound such as a harp or drum.
Children soon realise that they can make their own music by moving their
bodies. It’s a powerful incentive for them to increase their mobility. Similarly
they can have fun from learning normal speech. Vocal sounds are the input
to a computer which turns them into a dancing pattern on the wall or vibrations
in the floor. This encourages the children to experiment further with speaking
and listening.

A team from the University of Central Lancashire is writing software
that will realise SPACE’s dream of being a fully interactive, computer-controlled
environment. A system of pressure pads and switches will be integrated into
the system to give users maximum choice and control in their exploration.
The results should be exciting. Shorrock is wary of making extravagant claims
but already has people who have walked or talked for the first time while
they were at the centre. She would love to have the funds for some controlled
research.

SPACE is for everyone. Children and adults in wheelchairs, disruptive
teenagers, the blind and the deaf all benefit from their sessions here.
At the weekends, families with a disabled member hire SPACE for an opportunity
to relax together. The fund raisers – local schools, businesses and community
groups have so far raised £320 000 – visit SPACE too, to learn about
its benefits.

The centre is designed to take new technologies aboard as they arise.
There is a small room, Mini Space, with a huge screen for video and computer
programs, and a sound box that makes the floor vibrate giving added sensory
input. At the moment, the room is used for speech therapy or to simulate
real life situations such as the signs and sounds of the seaside, but in
future SPACE could be an ideal venue for virtual reality systems. ‘Whatever
technological developments there are, SPACE will go with them,’ says Shorrock.
‘SPACE will never be finished.’

As people with disabilities survive longer into adulthood, places like
SPACE will become increasingly important. It is difficult to find appropriate
activities and outings for children and adults with special needs. There
is something for everyone to enjoy and learn from – whatever their level
of development. SPACE’s supporters are convinced that it has more to offer
its disabled visitors than a trip to nearby Blackpool.

Susan Aldridge is a chemist and science writer

When I was a teacher in an inner-city comprehensive, I became convinced that
banning junk food would do more to raise educational standards than the
cartload of government initiatives deposited on the school doorstep. There
seemed to be a definite connection between a wandering mind and the
consumption of break-time snacks so horrid as to make crisps look like
health food. The only problem is that most kids love eating junk. I suspect
that adults are not much different, although they may be more sophisticated
at disguising their base desires.

Brainfood appears to promise a solution to this dilemma by exploring the
question ‘Can we ever eat right for body and mind, yet still enjoy
ourselves?’ The fact that the author is a French scientist whets the
appetite still further: surely Jean-Marie Bourre is ideally placed to advise
on combining optimum nutrition with the sensual pleasures of eating?

What follows is a basic primer on nutrition with special emphasis on the
brain and its needs, and a discussion of the psychology of eating.
Unfortunately, the translation and editing of the work are far from
seamless, so the resulting style is muddy and repetitious. Nor is it clear
whether the book is really meant for the general reader, as the introduction
seems to suggest. First we are in the popular science world where proteins
are ‘factory workers’, then a few pages later we are transported into
serious biochemical territory and left to struggle with beta-oxidation and
transamination (neither of these specialised terms appear in the brief
glossary).

However, there are plenty of tasty morsels here. Some are in the
fascinating-yet-useless category, such as the observation that manganese
intoxication causes micrographia, otherwise known as very small handwriting.
Others deserve more serious consideration, such as the link between dyslexia
and zinc deficiency. The chapter on lipids and the brain – Bourre’s own
field of research – is particularly interesting. He describes work that
shows that dietary deficiency of alpha-linolenic acid (a fatty acid found
in rapeseed oil) reduces the learning capacity of experimental animals. This
leads on to an exploration of the possible therapeutic effects of some of
the more esoteric natural oils, such as those found in borage, blackcurrant,
and the evening primrose.

But too many other important topics are not discussed at all. Why, for
instance, is there nothing about the alleged link between aluminium and
Alzheimer’s disease, or the claims that vitamin supplements can boost
intellectual performance? And surely the time is right for an expert view on
eating disorders, dieting – or even on aphrodisiacs, given that the sale of
these is driving the rhino and the tiger into extinction in some parts of
the world?

Instead, Bourre lapses into unsubstantiated and alarmist claims about the
safety of our food supply, saying: ‘It’s extraordinarily good luck,
something almost miraculous, that we’re been able to survive the toxic
substances present in our food as a result of contamination, plant sprays,
and medications used on farm animals,’ he maintains. And he finds food
irradiation is ‘especially frightening because it is so difficult to
control’. In the midst of all this danger, what is Bourre’s advice to the
bewildered reader? ‘The gymnastics of the body and of the brain guarantee a
healthy mind in a healthy body’ is his enigmatic conclusion.

Brainfood undoubtedly has entertainment value, but ultimately fails to
convey a clear message on how to feed the body and mind without sacrificing
the pleasure of eating.

Susan Aldridge is a chemist and science writer.